


aftermath #japhan

by snsk



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Fluff, Japhan, M/M, Metaphors, Romance, fix it fic kind of, introspective almost, wow so youtubers are a thing I write about now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-26 00:35:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3830620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snsk/pseuds/snsk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He buried his face in the dip between Phil's shoulder blades. If there was a sofa crease in the lounge, this was his Phil crease.</p>
            </blockquote>





	aftermath #japhan

**Author's Note:**

> it's been ages since I wrote something I'm rusty af anyway have some phan

The flight back from Japan was long and cold and uneventful, and Phil was asleep for most of it.

Dan would've liked to be, sure, but there was something about the stillness of the plane moving through the night, something about the Game of Thrones rerun playing on the mini tv, something about the too-tiredness and the oncoming jet lag and the notes he had to go through for the show next week that made him mindlessly, finger-tappingly, utterly restless. 

Something about the small curl of Phil's mouth as he slumbered on.

Dan closed his eyes, counted to ten. Japan had-- made it worse, somehow, that flickering flame which refused to die out; Japan, with its blossoms and unearthly neon and the crinkles by Phil's eyes as he trawled the Pokemon megastore, had given it oxygen and light and fanned it into a small, warm hearth fire, something to come home to.

Phil had always been something to come home to. Japan hadn't really changed anything, except in all the ways that it had.

"Hey," Dan said, stuffing his last ditch attempt, the in flight magazine, back into the seat pocket and turning to Phil. "Heyyy. Lester. Hey."

"Mmpgrsh," Phil replied. He blinked awake, startling at the inky black plane windows. "Are we--we here?"

"Almost?" Dan said. He looked at his watch. 1 pm Tokyo time, but what did that mean, in this silent transcendence between continents and time capsules.

Phil looked reproachful. "It was a good nap."

"You can sleep when we get back," Dan said. "I'll do the rest of the next outline."

"Sure," Phil said, amused, because they both knew Dan would be awake for the rest of the flight, then conk out as soon as he got to his own bed. Or the nearest couch, for that matter.

"I'm bored," Dan told him.

Phil made a sleepy hand gesture that encompassed the iPad on Dan's lap, the earphones around his neck, and Arya Stark on the screen before him.

"Alright, Mr Imminently Practical," Dan said, then, unfiltered, "I'm sure you could come up with far more original forms of entertainment."

He froze as he said it; not a thing you could edit out later. Not a thing, not in this dreamlike trance from Tokyo, that you could wave a hand at, laugh off as a joke.

Phil looked like he hadn't noticed, or remembered. His voice was nonchalantly sleepy, eyes warm as he said, "Do you remember that song about crabs they made us sing up the mountain? What do you think was the original context of the crabs climbing on and on and on?"

You could never really tell with Phil Lester, though.

&

Phil's mum had wanted to pick them up, but Phil wouldn't have her driving all the way on her own just for that, so he'd had Dan invent an overly complicated, insane excuse featuring time zones and extended flight dates. As an immediate result they were now standing in the middle of Heathrow with their luggage, surrounded by too many heavy brown boxes off the carousel labelled Fragile in Japanese.

"It really seemed like less in Tokyo," Phil said, eyes wide.

"You come up with the best plans, Lester," Dan commented, and inexplicably started to laugh. Which was strange because one, it wasn't that funny, and two, he couldn't seem to make himself stop, not even for about ten minutes. Phil, of course, hadn't stood a chance as soon as Dan had started, and now they were both giggling hysterically in the middle of Heathrow Airport with their luggage, surrounded by too many heavy brown boxes off the carousel labelled Fragile in Japanese. 

In the end they saw a few fans making their way towards them, and had to quickly phone Louise before a few more turned up. In the end they had to hail a cab because they couldn't all fit in Louise's car, what with all the fragile boxes. In the end Dan and Louise saw Phil and their luggage off in the direction of their flat, and Dan couldn't explain to Louise why that last glimpse of Phil's Trying To Keep A Straight Face set him off for another five minutes, clutching at his sides.

Louise waited patiently. Eventually, she said, "So, good holiday, then?" and rapped him on the arm to help her with the loading of the inexplicably heavy boxes.

Dan didn't need to think about it, the way he made an unconscious habit of overanalyzing the double meaning of too many sentences these days. He just said, "You know what, Louise, it didn't suck," and that was it, the truth.

&

Dan didn't conk out the instant he walked through the door with the last box, as expected. Instead he watched Phil make bitterly strong Japanese tea and messed around with his mentions. #ripjaphan was starting to trend. He replied to a tweet under the hashtag that said, You will be missed.

[@danisnotonfire: @gxthhxwell the ones we love never truly leave us #ripjaphan]

"I expect you'll return to your refined English tastes around here," Phil said. "No more horribly leafy assault on taste buds for you." 

"Get me some tea," Dan said, rolling his eyes. "I'm already homesick for Tokyo. Have you told Duncan we're back?"

"Oh, shit," Phil said. "Can you believe I forgot all about it?"

"No," Dan said, "never!" but it came out fond. He texted Duncan and got a thumbs up, two smiley faces and three sad teary emojis in response.

we miss you guys too, he typed back. And then he and Phil had tea and caught up on the Newsroom they'd missed. Phil went to bed first, yawning and waving a goodnight-- he'd always been better at adjusting to jet lag-- and Dan opened his laptop and shut it again.

The restless feeling was back. His eyes were starting to hurt, in that too-tired way that signaled more than twenty four hours awake in two different continents.

In Japan, he and Phil had shared a room. Everyone knew about Dan's thing with different sleeping environments, it didn't matter. It was a holiday, anyway. It was Tokyo, it didn't matter.

Dan kicked off his shoes, fumbled his way under the covers. He buried his face in the dip between Phil's shoulder blades. If there was a sofa crease in the lounge, this was his Phil crease.

Phil mumbled something and placed his palm on one of Dan's arms, which had somehow gone around Phil's waist. Dan did this more often than he wanted people to think, or they ever talked about. Phil never said anything, just pulled him in.

"We're still on Tokyo time," Dan whispered into the achingly familiar scent of Phil's worn Noddy t shirt. "It doesn't matter."

Phil didn't respond. Dan fell asleep.

&

There were two things Dan was made acutely aware of over the course of the following week:

1) that the jittery restless flickering firework refused to go away, had nestled itself neatly into Dan's bones in a way that couldn't be ignored, however successfully he had pushed it down before, and

2) Tokyo time wasn't over yet. They'd reset their watches and gotten past the jetlag, but that feeling of a holiday, that relaxed sense of peace that'd had them in stitches at the airport hadn't left. Had them joking around with each other more, had them less annoyed with unwashed plates and abandoned socks. Had Dan catching himself staring at Phil with a weird sense of wonder now. Like they had Tokyo. Like Phil was a city Dan was starting to explore all over again.

Dan slept in Phil's bed every night. They hadn't talked about it yet.

&

In Dan's eyes, Phil had been a bonfire, once. Dan had thrown many things into the flame, recklessly watched them burn, delighted in the light.

&

They had a meeting with the Book People-- they'd taken to calling them that, as a collective. 

"Last minute editing process, guys," Donald Dunham said. Dan, as always, pondered the unfortunate selection of his name, then as an afterthought, what he was saying. "Bring it home, look through it, this might be your last chance before it's out there for the world to see."

Phil accepted his copy, finger, like it did each time, tracing the letters in the title. Looking down at it, he gave Dan a smile without actually looking at him, the sort of thing you'd miss if you hadn't seen it a hundred times before.

Dan reached out for his, and asked: "So we can still change things?"

Donald Dunham paused in the middle of his explaining the New And Improved picture placement changes on page forty six. He looked a bit annoyed.

"Technically," he said, "although I would recommend--"

"Sorry," Dan said, "I think it's important."

Donald Dunham made a number of Important Calls, looking terribly stressed out, while Phil kept a straight face behind one hand. In the end they were told to email the final versions before Friday 11:59 pm and not one minute later. Dan nodded seriously. Phil let out a snort, and then a series of coughs in response to himself.

&

"Did you just do that to fuck with him?" Phil asked, amused, as they walked out into a cloudy afternoon. "It worked. He was probably about to cry. He's thinking that it'll probably mess up his page forty six margins so bad."

"About thirty five percent," Dan said. He didn't elaborate; he still wasn't sure what, specifically, he wanted to do. If it was anything at all.

Phil shrugged. "Okay." Dan kind of loved him for it. They passed the Starbucks next to the tube. 

Dan began, "Hey, how about we--" 

"Dan, come on," Phil moaned, "we've only got like, thirty five minutes till the Freya thing--"

"This is tradition! This is the essence of who we are! We stop by Starbucks and order unnecessarily expensive sinful slices of heaven! We can't just change now we've become corporate--"

"I'm only acquiescing because the look on Donald Dunham's face amused me," said Phil. "Don't think you've gotten away with this. Fifteen minutes. That's at most. You promise me," but he was grinning as Dan pulled him through the doors, lifting the first foamy spoonful reverently to his lips. Dan loved him for this, too.

&

They took twenty five minutes.

&

They were still three minutes early for the Freya thing. It was one of those days.

&

Try as younger Dan might, he had been unable to make a forest fire out of what he had with Phil. It had simply refused to destroy anything in its path. The most it had been was a bonfire, once, and even then Phil had kept it from reducing the things that mattered into ash.

Dan thought about this a lot, sometimes. It was a conclusion in itself: that, at least, Dan was intelligent enough to gather. Sometimes-- more and more often these days, and ever since Japan, a steady constant--  he thought he was ready to accept whatever it meant. What had originally held him back was not understanding its full implications. Dan liked to fully understand things, like how his audience worked, and what they liked in that, and what they would think of this. It had worked for his career. But there were some things which weren't possible to ever fully understand. Twenty year old Dan hadn't noticed that.

Dan was beginning to realise eighteen year old Daniel Howell had been far smarter, in some ways, about a few things. As cringey as he had been.

&

In the end, he spent the same night working on his paragraphs in the book, long after Phil had poked his head in and said, "Night, Daniel," and Dan turned and scrunched up his nose at him and said, all kinds of embarrassingly fond, "I can't believe you actually brought those Daiso bunny slippers back," and Phil's face made it through what seemed like an algorithm of emotion before the rest of him made its way into Dan's room and hugged him from behind, arms around Dan's neck.

Phil smelled like chamomile. He had his glasses on. He was choking Dan a little. Dan loved him intensely.

"Goodnight, Phil Lester," he murmured, way too sentimental for the relatively early hour. He turned his face into Phil's chest just a bit.

So-- so after that, it was easy to just type away, and long after, maybe an hour before dawn, Dan was finished with it, and really, very proud, in a way he usually associated with some of his absolute favorite videos, and getting a job at BBC, and that million-achieved gold plaque. 

He hadn't even written anything that drastic, really. Just omitted a bunch of lies about potential other partners. Neutralised a few pronouns. Added how genuinely, sincerely proud he was of Phil, that he'd come so far, how Dan had been his biggest, most obsessed fan and that hadn't changed in six years. 

Dan shut his laptop off with a flourish, and looked around to tell Phil he had Accomplished a Thing, before he realised what unearthly hour it was. The first rays of dawn broke through their windows, and Phil would be up in a couple of hours. Dan would leave a note, wouldn't risk disturbing him.

&

On their way to France a few years ago, Dan had huffed impatiently and very finally, and accidentally on purpose elbowed a sleeping Phil in his side.

"Oh, are you awake?" he asked innocently.

Phil sighed. Reached a sleepy hand out to pat Dan on his cheek. "Listen to your music, babe," he told him. "Watch a fancy French film."

Dan nestled into the touch, still something unfamiliar, delicious, something all Dan's and only Dan's for the taking, for once. "I'm sure you can come up with far more original forms of entertainment," he told Phil.

Phil considered this for a moment. "I'm sure I can," he concluded, raising an eyebrow, and he leaned in, close, so close. Vomiting butterflies, was how he'd described it to Dan once. Strangely accurate, like many of his offhand descriptions. Dan wondered if this feeling would ever get old.

An inch from Dan's face, and all Dan could see was the ocean, vast galaxies of it, he'd been swept up too far to swim back to shore now and then Phil said, very seriously, "Did you know that Marie Antoinette once dreamt she was chopping off her husband's head?"

Dan blinked. "Twat," he said, shaking his head and pinching Phil in the side, making him squeal, and as an afterthought, "That is not a historically verified fact," which was when Phil chose to stage his counter attack, and then Phil kissed him mid-laugh, and kissed him, and kissed him some more.

&

Sometime around midday, Dan woke up to sunlight flooding his room, which either meant a burglar had broken in and kindly opened them for him, or--

Phil was sitting at his desk, reading from Dan's laptop, which was open at the last page of Dan's pages. Or-- well, he was looking at the screen, but Dan kept watching, and he didn't seem to be scrolling down, just staring.

It wasn't as if Dan thought of himself as brave or anything, but there was something that wasn't quite fire in his stomach when he asked, "Did you like it?"

Phil turned the chair around to face him. For some reason his gaze slid left for a few seconds, towards the ground, then it came back to Dan. Warmer. There was lantern-like flame bright in Phil's eyes. It lit up the ocean.

On the floor next to Dan, always, was the green plushie from when they'd just brought the fire to life.

"In Japan they have this thing where sharing an umbrella is ai ai gasa," Phil said. "I knew that. Did you know that?"

Dan let out the breath he hadn't known he was holding. "Yes."

Phil nodded. He drummed his fingers on the arms of the chair. "I just wanted to walk under the cherry blossoms with you," he said, simply. "I always have."

People watched their videos and didn't think so, but Phil had always been the stubborn one. Dan had always been the one who initially made a lot of protesting noise and gave in, eventually. Phil was stubborn and warm and constant like the fire in their apartment in the morning, the one they woke up to, the one Dan always came home to. 

"You had me," Dan said, then, helpless: "you have me, Phil," because he'd pushed so far, and the tide had swept him right back, and he'd spent so long thinking he minded, in terms of words and walls and flames, but when Phil kissed him this time, it felt exactly the same as he'd described it to Dan years ago. Swoopy, vomiting butterflies. Turned out Phil had been right about that as well.

Dan tried to muster some annoyance up at the fact Phil was always kind of right about the things that mattered. He couldn't quite manage it.

&

an excerpt from TABINOF, page 309: 

I often understate this so that he keeps both abnormally hidden feet on the ground, but procuring Phil Lester as a friend has also been one of my proudest achievements in life.

&

**Author's Note:**

> 24/11/15 edit: it turns out they did sing a song while climbing the mountain, FANCY that. however tabinof did not work out as I expected oh Well


End file.
